Be My Escape
by frozenroses
Summary: DMHG fic. In a moment of clarity, Draco sides with the Light, only to find himself pent up in the Order's Headquarters. Will he manage to make peace with his "guard", a Mudblood? Or will old prejudices take over? Inspired by Relient K's Be My Escape
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize. The song this fic is based on is Relient K's Be My Escape. **

**A/N: **I know. I said I'd put all my focus into The Curse, but I heard this song and it was like a light bulb went off in my head. Originally, it was only supposed to be a one-shot, but a plot seemed to form somewhere so I guess my focus'll be split between The Curse and this one. Gosh. Oh yeah- and school…:sighs: enjoy, folks! And please, REVIEW! I find I'm addicted to reading them...

**Warning: HBP spoilers.**

**Be My Escape**

**Chapter One**

Draco Malfoy sat up in his bed, counting the notches he had carved into the wood. Five…ten…fifteen…twenty…twenty-five…thirty. Thirty days since he first arrived. That meant it was about thirty days since he ran away from home. Thirty-nine days since he last saw Hogwarts. Thirty-nine days since…

The 17-year old stood up, pushing the thin sheets off his body as he made his way to the bathroom down the hall. Flipping the light switch, he couldn't help but wince at the brightness of the light that filled the dark room. Upon looking in the mirror, he almost wished he _hadn't_ turned the light on. Pale blond hair hung limply from his head at odd angles, a sharp contrast to the sleekness and perfection it once embodied. His skin, naturally pale, was pasty and ghost-like. Silver eyes, once proud and intense now looked back at him, sunken in and clouded with exhaustion. His strong, toned frame had not changed—though, in all honesty, he had never felt weaker. Thirty nine days…

He let out a shaky sigh, splashing cold water on his face. He would have headed for the shower, had it not been so late; there was someone here he definitely did not want to deal with right now, and he was pretty sure she wouldn't appreciate the water running at this hour.

Going back to his room, he sat beside the window, looking hopelessly out at freedom, separated only by the thin glass in front of him. He scoffed. '_Freedom? What freedom? I gave away that right the night I got **this**!_' Angrily, he glared at his left arm. Though it was hidden by robes, he knew it was there…the reason behind his family's demise…the reason the Wizarding world couldn't sleep at night…the damned Dark Mark.

'_Fucker,_' Draco cursed, thinking of Voldemort and his empty threats. '_Kill my family my arse. How could I have believed him? Stupid Dark Lord…full of fucking shit. Why didn't I see it before?_'

By the time Draco _had_ realized the Dark Lord's lies, it had been too late. He wanted desperately to turn to Dumbledore—the only man Draco had ever known to be honest. At a time when the world was crashing about his ears, Dumbledore had been the voice of reason—the more so when Draco stood before him, ready to kill him. But then Snape had come in and…

The young Malfoy swallowed hard, finally allowing pent up anger to flow freely throughout his body. It was like fire dancing in his veins and he relished the feel of something other than loathing and despair. It was hate. Pure, unadulterated hate. Not for himself—for the Potion's master…Dumbledore's murderer.

The day he was to return to report to the Dark Lord, Draco made the hardest decision of his life. Knowing he might very well die because of his rashness, he gathered his wand, leaving everything from his past behind, and Apparated to Number Four, Privet Drive.

He fully expected Potter to kill him on the spot, but it was with quiet fury that his enemy had asked, "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Dumbledore urged me to see the error of my ways, and seeing as how I'm sick and tired of the damn Dark Lord, I figured I'd take the old man's advice" he answered, unable to help the nasty tone of his voice and the sneer that fixed itself onto his face. One epiphany was certainly not enough to erase six years of enmity. "Assuming his offer to side with the Light still stands."

"How do I know I can trust you?" Harry glared back.

"You have my word—I've renounced my evil way of life." Draco answered, his voice a lazy drawl. Potter's laugh startled Malfoy—it was a sound he didn't expect…so…empty.

"Your word? What good is the word of a Malfoy to me?" Draco realized the Boy Wonder had a point. Come to think of it, it didn't mean much to him either.

"I swear, on Dumbledore and everything he stood for, that I want nothing to do with the Dark Lord. Happy, Potter? I'll swear it in an Unbreakable if I have to…" Surprisingly, this was good enough for the Boy Who Lived.

"Does Voldemort know you've joined our side?"

"No—I was supposed to report to him today, but I came here instead." Draco answered, in slight shock over the fact that he was in Harry Potter's bedroom, after almost killing Harry Potter's beloved mentor, and he was still alive.

"Right—give me a second. We've got to get you to a safer place." With that, Harry scribbled a quick note, sending it off with Hedwig. Gathering his wand, he turned to Draco once again. "You can Apparate, right?"

"No, Potter, I _walked_ here." Draco rolled his eyes.

"Hey—I'm trying to help you, you git."

"Old habits die hard." Draco shot back. "Where are we going?"

Minutes later, Draco found himself in the house of his Aunt Black—Sirius' house…now Harry's.

"Don't leave, whatever you do. And if I find out you're double crossing us, there'll be hell to pay." Harry threatened unnecessarily.

"Wouldn't dream of it. The bedroom's upstairs, right?" Draco asked, exhaustion settling in his bones.

"Been here before then?"

"Maybe," was Draco's nonchalant response.

"Yeah—pick one out. I'll be back in a few days. We'll settle this then," Harry stated, "You'll be alright, then?"

"Yeah." At Malfoy's answer, the Boy Wonder turned to leave. Before he could stop himself, Draco called out, "Hey, Potter!" Harry quickly turned around, waiting for Malfoy to finish. "Thanks." It was a historical moment, to say the least: Draco Malfoy actually _thanking_ Harry Potter? Would wonders never cease?

Harry gave a single nod in return before Apparating, Draco assumed, back to Privet Drive.

Silence filled the house those next few days without Potter, and Draco thought himself being slowly driven insane. Like the Malfoy Manor, the Black House was rather large—though it _was_ smaller than Malfoy's own—and filled with absolutely nothing to do. Draco was left only with his dark thoughts and that alone was enough to torture him. It was somewhat of a relief when he heard Potter's voice float through the walls. Somewhat.

Draco emerged from his room that day, coming face to face with not only Potter, but his sidekicks Weasel and the Mudblood, the Werewolf, Moody and two Aurors he recognized from the Battle. It was almost too easy, falling back into the old Malfoy mannerisms.

"Well, is this some sort of surprise party, then?" he drawled, crossing his arms and leaning against the door frame, carefully studying the people before him.

The two Aurors, one with vibrant pink hair and the other with none at all, appeared rather young…maybe no more than 5 maybe 7 years older than he was. Both had looks of contained anger and loathing on their faces, though, together, their hatred was no match for the Weasley's.Iflooks could kill, Draco assumed he'd be turning over in his grave, the way the red-haired boy was staring at him. Lupin looked even more worn and tired than Draco felt, and that was saying something. Moody…well—who could really tell what was going on with Moody? As Draco's eyes fell upon the only other female of the group, his lip curled in a sneer. Filthy Mudblood, always following Potter…he hated her—from her still-bushy hair to those hideous shoes she wore. She stared back defiantly, curiosity hidden in her muddy eyes more than any anger was, and for that, Draco could only hate her more.

"Surprise? Yes. But if this is a party, I must say, it's not one I'll remember fondly," Lupin replied. "Come, everyone—there is much to discuss."

Discuss? What had they discussed? Their meeting had ended horribly—at least in Draco's opinion. While everyone had managed to keep all curses and hexes to themselves, they all had concluded something the Malfoy thought to be blatantly obvious beforehand: he needed protection—something he would be given as long as he remained loyal to Dumbledore's cause and supplied Potter & Co. with information when appropriate. It was about as productive as training for Quidditch without broomsticks or a Quaffle.

Something the others _had_ agreed on, to Draco's dismay, was to leave the Mudblood with him. Idiots. Just because he was helping them, didn't mean he accepted Muggles or Mudbloods. He just wanted the Dark Lord defeated. Despite his protests, Harry refused to leave him alone again.

"Why!" Malfoy demanded, angered enough to actually show it. "I was here by myself before this damn meeting—why can't I stay now?" The slow transition to insanity due to the deafening silence he experienced before was thrown out the window in light of the new situation. He refused to live with a Mudblood.

"It was stupid of me to leave you here before—what if someone broke in? We need to play it safe." Potter calmly answered, his quiet voice serving to anger Draco all the more.

"And I suppose _she's_ going to protect me then?" he scoffed, not bothering to look at the subject of his sentence.

"I may be smaller than you, Malfoy," he heard her speak, "but that doesn't mean I won't try. Don't think, for one second, that I'm doing this for _you_."

Draco kept his eyes focused on the wall behind Potter's head, breathing evenly and counting to himself. '_One…two…three..._' Of course, he didn't think she was doing this for him! '_Four…five…six…seven..._' Hell, he would have fought harder against having her there if she were! '_Eight…nine…ten…eleven…'_

"It won't be for long, just until around mid-July." Confused slightly, Draco turned to Potter, contemplating his words. July? That seemed a lifetime away…

"Why? What's in July?"

"My birthday."

That had been, according to Draco's calculations, 21 days ago, and Harry still had yet to return, despite the fact that July was quickly coming to an end. After 30 days in his former enemy's house, there was only one thing Draco Malfoy was sure of.

'_I gotta get outta here…'_


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

**Chapter 2: Beginnings**

After a few more hours of trying to fall asleep, Draco gave up, deciding instead to let his thoughts flow free. He had refrained from allowing the memory of past weeks to haunt him, and now seemed like the perfect time to bring them up; it _did_ feel good…the anger…the rage…

From what he heard, Draco's father was still in Azkaban—not that it bothered him. In fact, he was somewhat glad. '_Serves him right, the arse_,' Draco thought, '_for landing us into this mess._' It was true—Draco laid the blame for all his family's misfortune on his father. It was Lucius, after all, who joined the Death Eaters; Lucius who craved power so much he had done everything he could to become one of Voldemort's "inner circle"; Lucius who ever-so-faithfully did whatever the hell the Dark Lord asked. And what did he have to show for it? A lifelong sentence in Azkaban.

'_I was no better…he blindly followed the Dark Lord, I blindly followed him…and look where it's gotten me._' He looked around the dark room, illuminated only by the moonlight shining from the window. '_I'm stuck inside this rut…_'

The young Malfoy's thoughts turned to his surroundings. His bed, unmade, lay at one end of the room with the headboard in the middle of the far wall. Directly across was his closet, empty save for a few tattered robes. The wall connecting these two others was blank, except for the door leading to the rest of the house. Beside Draco, there was a table covered in unused quills and parchment; bottles of ink lay unopened in the drawers below. The light coming in from the window, where Draco sat, bathed the room in an eerie pale yellow light.

The silence was something Draco knew he would never get used to. He hated this silence, the way it mocked his lack of companionship—it drove him mad. Of course, there was a time not too long ago when he would've chosen the silence over Granger. Now there was someone who would drive him mad just by breathing. Abandoning all thoughts of his father, Draco thought back, beginning with Granger's first day as his housemate.

…

"Just keep away from me, Mudblood," he remembered saying to her once they were alone.

"No, I was planning on handcuffing myself to you, you prat," she responded, rolling her eyes. Draco didn't know what 'handcuffing' meant, but he sure as hell wasn't going to let _her_ know that. It didn't sound very pleasant… "I'll see you later." Without another word, she disappeared up a flight of stairs leading away from Draco's room. He relaxed visibly. '_Thank Merlin she's gone…_'

The next week was filled with that silence Draco easily tired of. Of course, the only alternative was talking to Granger and he would delay that as long as he could. She, however, had different ideas.

About a week after she 'moved in', he walked in on her talking to Dobby during dinner. One sneer from the elf's old master was all it took to send the creature off stuttering some asinine excuse about having to ready the rooms.

"Why do you have to be so rude?" she demanded, as he turned to leave in hopes of avoiding her. '_Damn…_'

"Siding with you lot doesn't change who I am, Mudblood," he answered, the sneer never leaving his face.

"And who _are_ you? A Malfoy?" she scoffed, speaking exactly what he was about to say. "What is that supposed to mean? You hate anything and everyone that isn't pureblooded; you treat those less fortunate than you as though they're beneath you; you align yourself with a murdering lunatic so people will fear you…that's what being a Malfoy is?" she asked, her voice soft the whole time.

"What of you?" he shot back, unable to keep the hint of anger from his voice, "with all your books and knowledge and morals—you think you know everything? You're wrong—I know things that would give you nightmares for weeks—things that you can't read in books. I've seen things that would've made your precious Dumbledore cringe if he were still alive. Don't assume that, because you know my name, you know who I am."

"That's just it, Malfoy—I _don't_ know who you are. I _don't_ know everything. I _don't_ know why you're here, in this house, instead of beside You-Know-Who, like your father would be if he were out of Azkaban. I _don't_ know…" she admitted.

"I am not my father," he glared at her, his voice now devoid of all emotion, yet dripping with hate.

"Then why do you insist on behaving as such? You say you're not like him, but you scorn peole with Muggle backgrounds and creatures like Dobby. You bully and flaunt power--…"

"It's how I was raised, Granger," he cut her off, "You can't expect me to throw away the only life I've known for 17 years—that's what I was _taught_. You couldn't turn around and kick a house elf, or hate someone solely because you were told you're better than them, can you? You couldn't turn around and change who you are just because you decided you didn't want to serve a murderer…"

"Maybe not," she surprised him by agreeing, "but if I had to, I would try. Is it so hard? To show appreciation for someone who's only trying to help you?"

"And why _are_ you helping me? Because Potter told you to? You think my father was stupid—that _I'm_ stupid for blindly following someone, yet here _you_ are doing exactly that! And before Potter, it was Dumbledore!"

"That's different! Harry and Dumbledore want to make the world safer—better-…"

"What do you think the Dark Lord wants? By ridding the world of Muggles, he thinks he's making the world a 'better' place. It's all perception, Granger—everyone thinks they're right. _You_ may think he's a lunatic, but _he_ certainly doesn't."

"What do _you_ think, Malfoy?" she asked, her voice quiet again. He looked at her, her face red from the energy she used up for just this one conversation. There was no hate in her eyes, only a genuine curiosity.

"I think," he sneered, lowering his voice to match hers, "I've had enough of this conversation." With that, he turned and walked back up to his room, all hunger forgotten. Her question plagued his mind, and though he managed to keep out of her way for the better part of the week, her words repeated in his head… '_What do you think, Malfoy?_'…

Malfoy. Hadn't he given up that name the night he sought Potter for help? Why did he ask his school-rival for help in the first place? '_To stay alive_' he thought, '_but for what? What do I have to live for? I can't go back…damn Death Eaters would kill me before I could plead my damn case…and all these people here already expect me to be evil—not that I've done anything to make them think otherwise—hell, I just finished telling Granger how much I hate her—why would they think otherwise? I've brought this on myself…this is what I get for taking pride in the **Malfoy** name."_

These thoughts circled around and around in his blonde head, making him dizzy during those bouts of silence the house was prone to. '_One stupid argument with Granger and I'm beginning to question the whole damn world. Merlin, what's wrong with me?'_ He didn't realize that, at some point, he stopped thinking of her as 'Mudblood'.

A little over a week after the initial argument, he grew tired of the silence that left him alone with his thoughts. Unconsciously, he began to change his schedule, leaving his room more often. If someone—anyone—accused him of seeking out Granger, he would have thought them insane…yet, it was exactly what he was doing. Granger, once again, seemed to have the same thing in mind.

"Why?" she asked forcefully, after barging in his room without knocking.

"Granger! How nice of you to drop by! Please, make yourself at home…" he welcomed sarcastically as she walked in.

She paid no heed to his words, ignoring his greeting and repeating her question instead.

"Why **_what_ **Granger?"

"Why are you here? Why didn't you kill Dumbledore? Why did you ask Harry for help? Why aren't you with You-Know-Who? Why haven't you called me 'Mudblood'? Why do you think the way you do?"

"Why do you care?" he asked, rolling his eyes to hide the fact that he was, in fact, curious.

"I don't know…God, help me, I don't know—but what you said to me made me think…I just…I don't understand…" she finished weakly, her shoulders now sagging slightly.

"Don't understand _what_, Granger?" She looked up at him, taking a breath as though to really ponder his query.

"Everything…look—I'm sorry for walking in on you like this…I'll go…"

She walked out of the room, closing the door behind her, once again leaving him to his thoughts…to the silence. No way would he live through that again…

"Granger! Oi! Granger!" he found himself calling out suddenly, his feet moving across the floor and his hand turning the knob. Rushing out of the room, he found her not 10 feet away, her face unreadable.

"What…" she responded, biting her lower lip.

"I…I…" he stuttered, not really knowing what he wanted to say; so much going on in his head, yet he couldn't find the words. How could he put this? "I don't understand either. Hell, _you're_ the smartest witch of our age, you probably understand it more than I do…just…how can you expect me to change my _lifestyle_ in one night? The way I've lived for 17 years?"

"I'd say you're well on you're way—you've yet to make a comment about my family tree," she responded, offering him a small smile. "I don't expect you to change in one night…part of me is saying I shouldn't expect you to change at _all_. But, considering the circumstances, I expect you to try."

He looked at her once again, his steely grey eyes seeing the world in a different light with her words. Nodding once, he turned, walking slowly back to his room. She had given him quite a bit to think about.

…

That was, what—15 days ago? Draco really didn't feel like doing the math. 15 days, yet it felt like an eternity, and while he and Granger were far from calling each other friends, he felt as though he could trust her. They had talked about things; things he was loathe to admit even to himself. She was the only one who would understand his need to get away, and if she didn't understand, she would try to; she would help him escape. He would tell her in the morning.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

**Chapter 3: Breakthrough**

A dull 'clunk' echoed though the kitchen, empty save for a pensive Draco Malfoy. The second the sound quieted, he raised the mug to his lips once again, only to find it without contents. Mechanically, he reached across the table, pouring himself another mug-full of steaming coffee. After the previous five cups, he didn't even feel the need to grimace as the bitter liquid, free of sugar or cream, made its way down his throat.

A shell. That's all he felt he was now—a shell of a man. '_Some man,_' he scoffed, taking another swig and swirling it in his mouth. '_Could I have really called myself a man before this?_'

His initiation into Voldemort's circle was supposed to make him feel grown-up, right? '_Well, it didn't. I wouldn't go back to him if—…_' he stopped, realizing that just years ago, he'd said the same thing about Potter. '_I wouldn't join their side if it was the last thing I do_'. Of course, he was, what, 15? 16? when he last thought it…and only 11 when it was forced into his brain by Lucius. He could hardly call that "mature". So what changed, between the years of 15 and 17? '_I got what I wanted, that's what…_'

It was true—ever since he could remember, he wanted nothing more than to be like his father: powerful—a Death Eater fighting for the pureblood cause. He wanted to make his father happy—no, proud—and he tried every year through school…Quidditch…being a Muggle-born hater. Now…? He sighed, running a hand though his lengthy platinum locks. '_Everything I wanted wasn't all I thought it would be_'.

He thought of himself then…of himself just a mere few months ago. '_Merlin, had it really only been a few months?_' He looked the same, he was sure…maybe less tired…less like he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders…but still the same, pointed, blonde, pale boy. Proud…arrogant…haughty… '_The worst sort of git imaginable_' he thought with a small smile. He hated stupid Potter and his stupid friends—the Weasel and the Mudblood.

The memory of what Draco used to call Granger did something this next cup of black coffee could never hope to do—make Draco Malfoy wince. Yes, he still thought purebloods were of another class than Muggleborns…and wizards were definitely above lowly Muggles…but time spent with his old rival helped him become acquainted with the idea that not everything Muggle-related was bad…at least, not Granger.

She was intelligent—hell, anyone from their year could tell you that much. After years in the company of those simpering fools that made up the female population of the Slytherin House, it was refreshing to come downstairs to witty banter or philosophical ramblings. Though he wouldn't go so far as to call her a close friend, she understood him and that was saying something.

He wanted to tell her of his need to get out—get out and do something—but how? When? He brought the mug to his lips. Finding it empty, he reached across the table and refilled it before bringing it to his lips once again.

"All these weeks with you and I never knew you liked your coffee black. It's a shame—I could've saved loads of parchment asking Harry to fetch us some," a teasing voice laughed from behind.

"You've been in contact with Potter, then?" Draco asked, surprised. "Where is he? Why hasn't he been around?"

"Calm down, Malfoy. Harry's…um…he's on important business at the moment," she answered, biting her lip. A worried look crossed her eyes for a split second, and Draco knew: everything was _not_ alright.

"He's found another one then? Another Horcrux?" She looked surprised at his accuracy, but covered it quickly, joining him at the table and nodding her head.

"He has. He, Ron and Lupin are out there now…"

"Why can't we help?" Draco blurted, cursing himself for sounding much too eager. Hermione's wide eyes met his across the table.

"We…we can't! I mean…you—you're supposed to be in hiding!" she exclaimed, not bothering to hide her surprise at his suggestion.

"I hate just sitting here, Granger. As much as I've grown to love these little chats of ours, I can't stand feeling like a prisoner…I need to _do_ something."

"But it's not safe…"

"All the more reason for me to be out there, instead of everybody's precious Potter! It's not safe, yet _he's_ out there! I'm not the boy I was, Granger—the boy everyone thinks I am."

"If you step outside—in search of You-Know-Who's Horcruxes no less!—it's a bullet through your brain, Malfoy…"

"Yes, well—this one last 'bullet' you mention is my one last shot at redemption. How fair is it that Potter can walk around like a saint while _I'm_ sentenced to live forever in my father's shadow?"

"After the way you've acted and treated everyone all these years? This 'life sentence' that you're serving is exactly what you deserve!" The truth of her words stung and all he could do was sit back in his chair, the fire gone out of him with one sentence from the girl across the table. "Draco," she began, her voice softer now; he didn't even register the use of his first name. "I know you're feeling cooped up, but you have to understand—we're doing this for you. To help you."

"How can this 'help' me if it's only hurting me in the process?"

"Hurting you! Malfoy-…" she began to argue once again, but he cut her off.

"Granger, I'm going crazy, sitting here on my ruddy arse all day. In a matter of weeks, I've changed—and not just a little change, mind you. My whole world's been completely shaken, all because I've spent all this time talking with _you_. You represent everything I was taught to hate: a Gryffindor, a Muggleborn and Harry Potter's friend, all rolled into one neat little package. I've gone from losing my temper at a pin's drop to…to not _feeling_ anything when I know I should be feeling _something_. I need to know that I can do something…" he ranted, not quite sure what he was getting at, but hoping that just maybe, she might.

"You need to know that you're not your father, Malfoy," she replied, steady, as her brown eyes pierced into his silver ones. Abruptly, his mouth shut; if he wasn't sitting down, he would've now. He merely nodded, carelessly brushing aside the blonde locks falling into his face. He knew she would understand. "Draco—the fact that it's been weeks since you've uttered the word 'Mudblood' in my presence is enough to show you're not like him. You've renounced You-Know-Who, haven't you? You've agreed to help the Light—to help Harry. Isn't that enough?"

"Enough for what? Enough for people to see me as a coward? As the scared little boy who ran away the minute he couldn't hack it? I'm not a coward. Maybe I was before, but I refuse to be seen as one now," he argued, his eyes narrowed. To his surprise, she smiled. Wait…hadn't his voice just been filled with venomous anger? Wasn't that enough to send 5th years cowering just months ago?

"I see you've still got the Malfoy pride, Draco—but maybe that's not such a bad thing," she mused, sighing. "I won't make any promises, but I'll see what I can do once Harry gets back. Till then, I'm afraid you're going to have to wait…and think of a good enough argument to bring to Harry. I have a feeling your whole 'I'm-a-Changed-Man' speech isn't going to work on someone who hasn't seen you change firsthand. I may be smart, but I can only do so much. Enjoy your coffee, Malfoy."

With that, she stood, leaving him once again—probably for the Library. Draco was suddenly seized with the urge to run after her and give her a huge hug to show his appreciation for what she just agreed to do. She, Hermione Granger, would be arguing in his favor—in the favor of a Malfoy! Draco Malfoy—the famed rival of the Golden Trio which she was 1/3 of. Hell, forget the hug, he'd snog her long and hard…but he decided against it. He'd been too out of his usual cool, calm and collected character during their conversation that morning. It wouldn't do well to add one more bone to the pile.

**...One week later…**

The first thing Draco did when he woke up in the morning, aside from convincing himself that it wasn't all a dream, was count the notches in his bedpost. Five…ten…fifteen…twenty…twenty-five…thirty…thirty-five…thirty-six, thirty-seven, thirty-eight. Thirty-eight days since he first arrived. One week since Granger agreed to talk to Potter. Four days since Potter's birthday.

'_Fuck,_' Had it really been just a week? He knew watching the time go by only made it move all the more slowly, but at this rate, the clock might as well be going backwards! '_Though, if it **were** moving backwards, maybe I'd have found some way around all this…_' he thought to himself. The idea was intriguing—he'd have to bring it up with Granger.

Granger. Now there was someone Draco found pleasantly different from other girls he had known. Time spent with her certainly hadn't dulled his mind, and time spent with him certainly hadn't dulled her wit. He had to admit—she was an excellent conversationalist.

A growl coming from his stomach broke Draco's thoughts. Deciding to jumble his morning routine just a bit, he opted for taking a shower _after_ breakfast, hungry for both food and Granger's take on his earlier idea of time moving backwards.

When he got downstairs, she was cooking breakfast, humming softly to herself as she flipped pancakes. Crossing his arms, he leaned against the doorframe, watching her work. '_She definitely isn't the same bushy-haired, buck-toothed, know-it-all from first year,_' he thought to himself as he observed her. Granted, she _was_ still somewhat of a know-it-all, and her hair _did_ have slightly bushy qualities when she wore it down instead of in a loose bun as she did now, but the rest of her wasn't half bad. She wore red cotton shorts and a white tee-shirt he recognized as her pajamas. The shorts, mid-thigh and definitely shorter than he thought she'd ever be comfortable with, did well to show off her long legs and hugged her hips quite nicely. The tee-shirt fit her well, accentuating her small waist. Though she certainly wasn't as busty as Parkinson (however, Draco wouldn't be surprised if Pansy had _bought_ her pair of assets), she wasn't exactly lacking…in fact, she was perfectly proportioned, all things considered. Wisps of her brown hair had escaped the bun and now framed her small face, dusted lightly with a few freckles and slightly flushed from the effort it took to make breakfast for two—the Muggle way, it looked like.

For a fleeting second, Draco actually though of Granger as, well, _pretty_, but he brushed the thought away as quickly as it had come. He'd been living with her for some time now, after all, and hadn't she recently agreed to plead his case to Potter and the rest of the gang? '_If she actually managed to get me out of this damn house, I wouldn't be surprised if the rest of the Wizarding world heard me sing her praises the rest of my life…'_

"Draco!" she exclaimed, starting at the sight of him causally leaning against the door frame. "I didn't see you! Come sit down—breakfast is just about ready."

"Isn't preparing breakfast a house-elf's job?" he asked, eyebrow quirked as she set a plate of pancakes in front of him.

"Well, I suppose so, but I felt like cooking this morning," she answered. "Is that so wrong?"

"It is when I distinctly remember you telling me one night how much you detest being behind the stove," he replied with a victorious smirk. "What—have you exhausted the library already then, Granger?"

"Of course not—have you seen it? It's huge!" she joked. Despite her easy manner, Draco sensed something else behind the smile that didn't quite reach her dark eyes.

"Then what, pray tell, inspired you to don the proverbial chef's hat and cook us breakfast? I know we've gotten closer and everything, Granger, but this is hardly the time for romantic gestures." She smiled a genuine smile at his jest, rolling her eyes at his suggestion.

"If I wanted to be romantic, those pancakes in front of you would be heart-shaped, Malfoy," she stated matter-of-factly with a toss of her head that reminded him of Pansy when she was in danger of losing an argument.

"Touché, lioness," he replied, offering her a rare smile before his tone became more serious. "But really—what's got you so worked up?"

"It's…it's probably nothing…I'm just being paranoid and reading into things a little too much. Syrup?" she piped up, passing him a bottle before he could decline.

"Thanks, but _what's_ 'probably nothing'?" he persisted, humoring her by drizzling his still-warm pancakes in the sweet substance.

"I…just…just this letter Lupin sent me…he, Harry and Ron were separated for one reason or another before they could complete the task…" She failed miserably at her attempt to convince him—and herself, probably—that it was 'nothing'.

"Well, when did Lupin get back?" Draco asked, his food forgotten.

"Um, a week ago."

'_Damn,_' Draco thought. '_Missing? For a week? And on a mission to destroy a Horcrux…where the fuck have they gone?_' He knew the odds were slim to none that they were actually safe, but one glance across the table told him Granger didn't really need to hear that.

"I wouldn't think too much of it," he shrugged, hoping she wouldn't see though is act of indifference. "Knowing those two dunderheads, they've probably already destroyed whatever it was they were looking for and are off to go save some village from an evil troll or something. I mean, Potter _does_ tend to play the hero more than any sane man would."

"Yes, you're probably right…I'm just being stupid." She shook her head as though to rid herself of any more thoughts on the topic. "Thanks."

He gave her a nod in reply, and then went back to eating the pancakes she made in her distress. They began idle conversation, though neither really had their hearts in it. One was dreadfully worried that her two best friends were lying unconscious somewhere; the other barely able to swallow from the gnawing guilt that began the moment his lie to comfort Granger had left his lips. His gut told him that maybe they weren't 100 safe after all… '_Let's hope I'm wrong…_'

* * *

A/N: Wow…sorry it took so long to update—everything going on at school kind of got in the way. On a brighter note, I just began winter break and my muse hit me full force last night. Not only do I finally have a plot for this, but an idea for another story began swimming around in my head last night, and I'm anxious to write it down. As if I need another story to work on though, right? Just a heads up—now that I know where this is going, I can tell whoever's reading this that it'll most likely come to an end in no more than 3ish chapters. I'm debating on whether or not to write a second part to it. I guess we'll see.

Thanks to my reviewers! It helps—it really does :)! And happy holidays everyone!


	4. Chapter 4

One month later: September

One month later: September

Draco Malfoy had gotten used to falling asleep to the sound of his Muggle-born companion crying alone in her room at night.

He had given up the little system of notches on his bedpost sometime in late August, when Hermione had promised to go out and do something about his need to get away. He figured there was no use in continuing when they would be leaving any day.

The week following their little heart-to-heart in the kitchen as they ate the breakfast she prepared was full of anticipation on his side; he couldn't wait to get out into the world and prove himself—to prove he was exactly the man his father would never be. What was the use of turning a complete 180 if no one could see it? Well…no one but Granger, of course.

Unfortunately for him, the little lioness was anything but cooperative. He wanted to leave. She wanted to stay. He really didn't know when her word became law, but it seemed nothing he could say would sway her to change her stubborn mind.

"We can't leave, Draco," she pleaded, sitting across the table from him just three days after that breakfast. "We need to stay—what if they come here looking for us?"

"Who—the other Death Eaters? The Dark Lord?"

"No," she whispered, her eyes breaking away from his to stare at her lap. He knew she had lowered her head to spare him from seeing her tears, and the thought of a woman crying didn't exactly sit well with him, but neither did wasting his life away hiding from danger.

"Then who? Who else would be looking for us?"

"No—Harry and Ron…what if they come here? What if they come here, and we're not here to help them?"

"What if they're out there, in dire need of someone to leave this bloody house and rescue their incompetent asses?"

"Malfoy! How dare you—"

"Look, I wasn't saying it to be mean, I was just saying—they might need help, and as much as your Order is doing, what if it's not enough? You might have forgotten, but you're in the company of a full-fledged Death Eater," he reminded her, pulling up his sleeve and thrusting his arm across the table, his branded flesh bare for her to see. "And as a Death Eater, I know things about those Horcruxes you might not—that Potty and Weasel might not." He ignored her glare at the use of the childhood names and continued. "If we can't find them, we can at least continue the search; how else will the Dark Lord be defeated?"

"Draco, please—I know you're a different person now, and you want to prove yourself. And I know that somewhere in the recesses of your mind, the day you asked Harry for help and the day you accepted me as something other than a 'Mudblood' was the day your humanity began to break out of its shell. I'm asking you to let me stay, and for you to stay with me—they're my friends…I can't go out there knowing they might come back."

He wanted to ask if he was her friend too, but there was enough going on without having to address the status of their…relationship. There would be plenty of time for that when the Wizarding world was safe from the Dark Lord and his murdering cronies. Instead, he tried to appeal to her one last time that day.

"So what—I'm to be a hostage to my own humanity? Self-detained and forced to live in this mess I've made by asking for protection?"

"Malfoy-"

"Forget it Granger. I can see this conversation is going nowhere." Without another word, he left the kitchen and made his way to the room he had taken to calling his own, slamming the door behind him. Leave it to Granger to make him feel like an errant schoolboy.

He hated leaving things like that with her—not because he actually cared about her feelings, but because she was his only form of entertainment and conversation; a fight with her meant another stretch of silence, and silence was sure to drive him crazy.

It was that night he first heard the sounds of her sobbing. For many nights after—even once he'd apologized, thought not 100 sincerely—the sound of her crying herself to sleep echoed through the house, and he felt like a right git, knowing he was part of the reason behind those tears. For once, he thought he might have preferred the silence…

After a while, he thought he'd get used to it, but each night brought fresh tears, and fresh tears brought fresh pangs of guilt to Draco Malfoy's bed. Where was the humanity Granger insisted he had? If he was any kind of human being at all, he'd try his best to comfort her, but he knew nothing of the art of comforting. After all, he was a Slytherin, and Slytherins didn't offer a shoulder to cry on, unless it made it easy to stab someone in the back in the process.

He didn't get used to it, and finally, the sound of her crying was too much. Not really knowing what he was doing, he left his room, walking sleepily in the direction of hers.

Granger was a rather small girl in stature, but seeing her shaking body on the bed reminded Draco that she was just a kid, much like himself even though she was a couple months older. Maybe it was the people she was associated with, or her incredible grasp on everything that could be found in a book that made her seem older than she really was…but the girl in front of Draco was just that: a girl.

Without a word, he joined her on the bed where she sat. She said nothing either, just leaned into his chest—something he really wasn't expecting—and cried all the more. It was anything but natural to put his arm around the weeping Gryffindor, but he knew that comforting people entailed words of encouragement and hugs here an there, and while Draco was a complete stranger in both of those departments, he figured he'd show Hermione the "human" side of him through this physical act of sympathy.

How long they sat like that, he would never know, but after a while, her tears subsided; he didn't know when he had started rubbing small circles on her back, but when he did, he thought it best not to stop since it might have helped ease her crying. For once, silence didn't bother him; for once, he didn't really know what to say. It was a relief when she spoke first.

"Thank you," she whispered, her voice rough with emotion.

"Hey, what are friends for?"

"So are we friends now?"

"Well, no, but I figured since Potter and Weasel can't do it, I might as well fill in." Instantly, he regretted his words, remembering that Potter and Weasel were the reasons she cried in the first place. He was surprised to see a smile on her tear-stained face.

"You did an excellent job, then, not-friend."

"I know," he replied in a mock-haughty tone.

"And…I think…I think you're right."

"About?"

"Well, I've been thinking, and if I were the one lost and in danger, there's no way Ron and Harry would sit around waiting for me…" He could hardly believe what he was hearing. Did she really mean it? He let her continue talking. "And I'm getting so sick of waiting around while everyone else is trying to do something—they're my best friends! I need to help too! I also want to thank you for not pushing your need to leave the house while I cried…I think, if anything, that really showed me how much you've grown up, and helped me make my decision."

"Decision?"

"Yes—Draco, I don't want to stay here anymore. I think it's time we tried a hand at playing the hero…I mean, if Harry and Ron could do it, we can too right?" Once again, he was momentarily speechless, but he figured actions spoke louder than words, and before realizing what he was doing, he had crossed the small space between himself and Hermione to engulf her in a huge hug.

"When do we leave?! Tonight?!" He asked, as her slight giggles were broken by hiccups left over from her crying session.

"Start packing—we leave as soon as we can."

No amount of apologies on my part could ever excuse me from not updating for so long. So I'll stick with one and hope you forgive me!

I'M SORRY!!

And a BIG, BIG, BIG thank you to the people who read the story in my absence and reviewed. It was YOU guys who kept me going, and who inspired me to pick up where I left off. This one's for you!!

Now, let's hope I don't stay away for that long again…


	5. Chapter 5

Apparently, "as soon as we can" was at least another three days.

He and Hermione had spent the better part of the night packing her things; he would have packed his own, but she had more crap than he did, and he figured helping her would get them out of there faster. Plus, she was exhausted after spending most of the night crying her little Gryffindor heart out and he thought he owed her just a little for finally deciding it was time to get out of there.

Before long, he started to get a little tired too, but he'd be damned if he didn't finish the job; Malfoys finished what they started. However, she was asleep, and he didn't think she'd begrudge him a short rest before he finished gathering everything they would need.

They woke up the next morning at exactly the same time; Draco knew this because he saw her eyes slowly begin to open just as his did when he woke up every morning. At first, neither of them realized where they were.

"Good morning, Draco."

"'Morning."

Mid-yawn, Draco's eyes shot open, just as Hermione sat up in the bed. They had slept here?! Together?! Immediately, Draco removed himself from the furniture, choosing to stand awkwardly in the middle of the room.

"We didn't—we…you…"

"No, I didn't finish packing—I stopped to rest for…wait—Granger!" He exclaimed, realizing what that tone of voice implied.

"What?! What am I supposed to think, with your reputation, and me waking up in bed with you?!"

"My reputation? What does 'my reputation' have to do with anything? And may I point out that we both still have all of our clothes on! I'm sure that whatever my 'reputation,' working around this amount of clothes is something even a hardened professional would have trouble with."

She started to laugh, a real laugh that made her eyes twinkle and her face scrunch up. Draco retraced his verbal steps before realizing the pun he hadn't intended. "Hardened professional," indeed. Somewhere in the back of his mind it occurred to him that he had woken up without his morning, um, happiness right there with him. That was probably a good thing.

"Merlin, Granger—how old are you?"

"Older than you, that's for sure, Mr. 'Hardened professional'" In all honesty, he was just glad to hear her laugh again; it was better than crying…

"So—when do we leave?" he asked to change the subject. Immediately, her face lost some of its mirth, and something inside him plummeted. Had she changed her mind?

"Well, I was thinking about it, and I don't think we can go just yet."

"What? Granger! You said—"

"Yes, I know what I said, but we need to think logically here, Draco—if we leave without a word, the Order will end up using much needed support to look for us instead of focusing on the Death Eaters and finding Harry and Ron."

"So? We'll let them know what we're doing and then go!"

"It's not that simple. If we alert them to our activities, we may end up alerting the Death Eaters as well—you know as well as I do they have ways of intercepting our owls. Draco, I know you wanted to leave today, but I really think it would be better to let the Order know of our plans—maybe they'll even help us…"

"Oh yes—they'll be completely in favor of sending off a former Death Eater and Harry Potter's best friend off together on a mission worthy of someone with a death wish."

"Would you rather stay here and not even try?"

"I'd rather go about my own business and not have other people meddle in my life." He knew his arguments were petty and immature, but disappointment had made him revert back to old ways. It wasn't his fault Hermione was the one who had to suffer through it.

"Well, like it or not, I'm meddling, and I'm brining the Order of the Phoenix right along with me. You asked for this when you asked Harry for help, and I'll not hear you complain about it anymore, do you hear? Now go pack your things! We really have no time to waste—I'll contact Lupin and have him arrange an emergency meeting.

Yep. There was the Hermione he knew. With a "yes, ma'am!" he turned out to follow orders, a smirk on his face. Definitely better than crying.

It wasn't long before Draco felt like crying himself. He didn't realize how golden silence really was until that third day when Order Members started filing into his Aunt Black's house. Hermione of course, was ecstatic to see old friends; Draco rather missed the alone time he had with her and the house—before all this chaos. He spent more time in his room, brooding, as she ran around downstairs like a good hostess and catered to everyone.

Guests were still arriving, when she snuck into his room, waking him up when she ran into a chair in the middle of the room.

"What are you doing here, Granger? Don't you have a Weasley or two to feed?"

"I just came to check on you, Draco," she whispered, and he could hear her trying to follow his voice as she made her way in the dark. He would have laughed if he was in a better mood. The slight dip he felt in the mattress told him she had reached her destination.

"Last time I checked, you weren't too keen on sharing a bed with me because of my, what was it? Oh yes—my 'reputation.'"

"Don't be silly—what are you doing here?"

"I would have thought it was obvious, Granger—if you haven't noticed, those people down there? They don't exactly like me very much, and however you vouch for me, they'll still hate my guts."

"Those people are here because they want to help you and help Harry and Ron—we're all friends here. Well, except you and me—we're non-friends," she added. He couldn't see her face in the dark, but he could hear the smile in her tone. He wondered if she'd be able to hear the smile in his; he made sure it was gone before he spoke.

"This is ridiculous—we should have done things my way."

"Doing things your way would have made a bigger mess than the one we're trying to clean up. Please—humor me, Draco. Go down there and show those people how wrong they are in assuming you're just another Malfoy inbreed."

"Inbreed! Well, I never!" he joked, his fake scandalized tone giving away his assent at Hermione's request. Merlin, the woman was turning him into a wuss. "I'll go mingle with your people, Granger. I'll blend in so you won't even know me apart from this whole world that shares my fate…"

"Oh, and what fate is that?"

"Death by your logic." He mumbled as he sat up, only to receive a gentle slap on his shoulder—Hermione's response to his little joke. "Please, Granger—I'm a fragile boy really…"

"Malfoy, you're hopeless," she laughed as he stood up. By now, his eyes had adjusted to the lack of light, and he could make out her frame, still sitting on the mattress.

"And you're the one who wanted me to make an appearance—maybe now would be a good time to give me some privacy while I make myself presentable?"

"Don't forget to brush your hair and do your nails!" she laughed, her voice playfully mocking. She stood, trying to get her bearings. "You know Draco, it's not good to sit in the dark like this—what if you tripp--"

With Quidditch-trained reflexes, Draco Malfoy was able to catch Hermione as she stumbled in the dark, effectively proving her point.

"I, unlike you, know what I'm doing in the dark." She was surprisingly light, he thought, as he brought her up to steady her. "Are you ok?" He asked, keeping his arms around her just in case she decided she'd trip again.

"Hermione, are you in here?"

Instantly, Hermione jumped as the door to Draco's room opened. Light flooded into the room, and as fast as Draco's Quidditch-trained reflexes were, they weren't fast enough to let Hermione go before one of the Weasley brothers saw the Gryffindor in his arms.

. . .

Next chapter: the Order Meeting.

Please, review!!


	6. Chapter 6

This was typed up faster than a speeding broomstick racing towards the snitch, and I only read through it once before deciding to post it. I figured you all had waited long enough for the next chapter :)

* * *

If there was one thing Draco didn't miss, it was Binns' History of Magic lessons at Hogwarts. The ghost's lectures were very much like the lecturer himself: bland, transparent and dead as dead could fucking be. He didn't think anything could be more boring than one of those lessons.

That was before he stepped into a meeting for the Order of the Phoenix.

All in all, he supposed he should have been impressed. What with Granger to his right and Lupin to his left, he knew he had two of the most respected members of the Order on his side. Plus, Harry fucking Potter himself had vouched for Draco at one point or another, so it should have been assumed that Draco Malfoy had renounced his Death Eater ways and wanted to play with the good guys now, right?

He wouldn't have admitted it, but the dining room in which he sat held a powerful group of witches and wizards, and all of his former enemies in the same room was rather a sight to behold. Of course, maybe if he had admitted it, they might take to him a bit more kindly. Then again, he wouldn't be able to admit anything, not with all the noise they all were making.

He sat back in a thick wooden chair, unable to hear his own loud exhale as it was absorbed by the shouting. He couldn't even really hear who was saying what, just that a number of things were being thrown out on the table.

"They'll not be going! It's madness!"

"No, madness is Harry Potter and my son missing for who knows—"

"But Draco is supposed to be in hiding!"

"Hermione's just a tiny thing—"  
"Without knowing—"

"Who even—"

"Can you just imagine—"

"I'm of age!!"

"How can we even trust—"  
"Will you all just listen—"

"Well, fuck if we can't—"

"Watch your language, young man!"

"Molly, just—"

The last time he looked up, he wanted to punch someone in the face. Everyone was shouting, pointing at him as though he was a child, speaking about him as though he wasn't even in the room. Anger made his blood boil, so he forced himself to focus on a gnarled knot slightly to his left on the wooden table before him. He wondered how old the table was, and if it were true that one could tell by counting the rings that rippled from the center of the table.

"We can do this!"

"Where would you even—"

"It's dangerous out there!"

"He's a Malfoy!"

"Maybe we should—"  
"NO GEORGE!"

"But, Arthur—"

"Kingsley, listen to reason!"  
"How do you expect us to—"

"We're not getting anything done!"

"Shut up for one second, Remus,"

"I know what's out there!"  
"We're supposed to be—"  
"Dumbledore would have—"

"But he's—"

"NO!"

Through all the din, he could hear a shake in Hermione's voice, and for a second he thought she was going to cry. His head snapped up, only to see she wasn't shaking and holding back tears; she was angry and so red in the face she put the famous Weasley hair to shame. For a second he was thrown back to second year at Hogwarts, to a Herbology lesson about mandrakes. He could see that day clearly in his mind, the first day they were to repot the bloody things, and how horrifying the mottled faces were. Hermione at the moment reminded him of a screaming infant mandrake and the thought forced a bark of laughter from deep within him, startling everyone at the table to stop talking. The sudden shock of silence seemed even funnier still, and one short bark of laughter turned into a guffaw; he felt his own face turn red from laughing so hard, and he wondered if he looked anything like Hermione.

"Honestly, Draco, I don't see what's so funny about all this."

Her arms were crossed in front of her chest, and he ignored the part of his mind that appreciated the way the action accentuated a particular part of her female anatomy. Instead, he took a deep breath, trying not to laugh as he exhaled. He looked around the room at the faces there, some familiar and some foreign. All of these people were going to decide his fate. The thought sobered him up faster than a Crucio.

Aurors he didn't know, and some he did. Tonks. Moody. Lupin. Even some old schoolmates like Lee Jordan and Neville Longbottom. Molly Weasley. Arthur Weasley. All of their Weasley children except for old Ronnie, and Draco was kind of glad he wasn't there because if he was Granger would have hexed one or both of them by now for all the insults they would be throwing at one another.

Hermione. She was there too, of course, and their "non-friendship" was proof that he had changed. Well, at least he had changed enough that they could trust him to some extent, right? He probably shouldn't have laughed, but he had, and there was only one thing to do now that they all were questioning his sanity and most likely his motives: work his Slytherin charm.

"Nothing's funny about all this," he agreed, nodding as he leaned forward to rest clasped hands on the table in front of him. He remained seated as everyone was still standing, knowing the difference in height would make him appear submissive. "It's actually quite sad, and while we sit here arguing, the enemy grows stronger, and Potter and Weasley aren't any closer to being found."

"Enemies that you work for?" Jordan spat, and Draco knew he had slipped back into Slytherin mode when he just let the comment slide without a scathing remark. If he was going to trick these people into allowing him his freedom, he had to act like a Gryffindor. Oh, if only Zabini could see him now.

"Enemies that are trying to kill me, same as they are you, Jordan. Look, I'm not asking you to accept me without question. I know I've done wrong—I have the mark to prove it—and I know I've done nothing to earn your trust—"

"But you have, Draco," Hermione argued, taking her seat next to him. There was a shine in her eye when she looked at him; to others it would seem as though she held back tears but Draco swore he could see a Slytherin-esque gleam in them. He held back a smile as she continued. "I can honestly say that you've changed. You're not the same rotten git I knew in school—you're a good man, and you've earned _my_ respect, at least."

"Thanks Granger…I think." He smirked at the roll of her eyes, and kept his seat, looking around at the people before him, meeting each set of eyes. "I've fought you all for so long when I should have let you in. I can try to make excuses and say I was just trying to save my own skin, but so were all of you, and I regret it all, but I can't take it back. All any of us can do now is use what we've learned to our advantage.

"Harry and Ron have gone after the Dark Lord's horcruxes, and from what I gather, it's a touch-and-go mission. I haven't forced information out of Hermione or anything, but as a Malfoy, I was privy to the Dark Lord's plans, and I know things that could help you find the other horcruxes and Harry and Ron as well."

"Pretty words from a prisoner, Malfoy, but we haven't forgotten who you are. Just because Miss Granger here's been fooled, don't think we all are," Moody warned, and Draco had to suppress the growl that wanted to issue forth from his throat.

"I haven't been 'fooled,' Professor," Granger argued, and the fighting began again.

"I'll not have you going about—"

"I'm not a child—"

"She's got a point—"  
"…disgusting pig of a…"

"Did you hear—"

"We can't just—"

"It isn't even an option—"

"But don't you think—"  
"…lying son of a—"

Frustration was something Draco had grown accustomed to in his life here at Grimmauld Place, and he knew his crafty, tricky ways were a bit rusty, not having had much use with just Hermione around. As the shouting grew louder, he began to formulate a plan in his head—a plan that died before it even really had a chance.

Just as that plan began to take shape, a silver stag burst through a window, and the whole room went silent even faster than it did when Draco started to laugh.

The stag spoke in just a whisper, but the sound filled the room even after the message had been relayed and the stag evaporated.

Lupin turned to Draco and Hermione, who were both in shock as much as the rest of the group. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Draco registered that Hermione was crying but he couldn't even move to offer her any kind of comfort. He kept staring at the spot where the stag stood, and only the sound of the werewolf's voice snapped him out of his daze. "Pack your things. You leave tonight."

There was no argument.

* * *

I'm rather attached to this story, but a lot of things have happened since my last post to pull me away from it. Since then I've entertained the idea of finishing it, but I never had the heart to.

The other night I got a very nice message from Sugarcube18, and this chapter was written shortly after. It's not very good, I'll admit; when two years pass between chapters, you kind of lose your edge :P However, I'm trying, and I'm getting back into things, I think. So thank you, Sugarcube for inspiring me to finish the story, and thanks to everyone who continued reading and waiting even when I didn't know what I was doing. I think there's about one more chapter left, and I'm such a fan of procrastinating with school work that you just might get that chapter before another two years go by :)


End file.
